Baked Bread and Blue Screens
by Satan's Sweeties
Summary: When Prussia responded to a flyer advertizing free computer repair, he never thought he'd befriend the geek. He also didn't expect to fall for him, considering what happened the last time he'd loved a human. Prussia/Matt, partial AU. Death Note X-over.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **This has to be _the _most fucked up thing I've yet to write, even compared to the Jersey Devil/Britannia Angel one. And you know what? I don't regret a thing.

This is only partially AU, because the Hetalia characters are still nations while the Death Note characters have different stories. You can consider the universe the Death Note characters are "from" as an altered circumstance universe of the one in Chronological Conundrum, meaning the guidelines are the same (Light's not Kira, L lives, Wammy Boys are still genius orphans, etc.) but the events of C.C. never happened.

Things from my head-canon to note:

—Teutonic Prussia was known as the "breadbasket of Western Europe," which is why he smells like baked bread  
>—The Nations have houses in whatever country they want, which is why Prussia is staying in America<br>—Prussia's smarter than anyone gives him credit for, but he can't really work a computer for the life of him and always has to have Germany, Japan, or America fix it for him if he can't get a computer techie to come do it  
>—After a handful of bad experiences with Russia, he feels uncomfortable around <em>all <em>Russians, which is why he gets squirmy around Mello  
>—While he finds women attractive, he's more likely to get with a guy because he feels as though the relationship is more equal that way<br>—Matt is an American from New Jersey, but came to Wammy's too late in life to lose his East Coast accent  
>—Though a bit of an asshole, Matt's a nice guy deep down<br>—Mello really does care a lot about Matt, but has way too much fun picking on him to really show his caring side

This will be a three- or four-shot, and probably won't be very long at that. It just made more sense to split it up than try to force the whole thing into one chapter.

I think that's it for this obscenely long Author's Note, so I'll wrap it up and let you get on with the story.

* * *

><p>Summer was Prussia's absolute favorite season, and nothing made him more excited than the prospect of fucking around all day outside in the beautiful weather. Germany, however, had other plans for his slacker of a big brother, deciding to take the day off to spend time with Italy and Japan while designating the paperwork to Prussia.<p>

Damn. He'd put on his swim trunks for _nothing_.

Why did he have to do anything anyway? It's not like he was a country anymore—well, not _technically_, but West was nice enough to let him become East Germany. Upside? He didn't, you know, _die_. Downside? It made him more susceptible to being forced—against his will, mind you—to do the paperwork so Germany could go off and do what he wanted to do.

Pouting, Prussia flipped through the intimidating pile of papers stacked next to the computer and sighed dejectedly, turning on the computer and opening up a Word document. "Why do you hate me, West?" he asked no one in particular, glancing over at the first sheet in the stack and typing up his brother's notes. "Well, at least your handwriting is readable."

Two hours and half a stack of papers later, the clock in the family room chimed ten times as Gilbird fluttered his little wings from his position in Prussia's hair. Stretching and rubbing the back of his neck, Prussia dragged the mouse pointer up to the Office button, selecting the 'save as' with a feeling of confidence and happily typing in some random name for the file before pressing 'save.'

And waiting.

And waiting some more.

And still waiting five minutes later.

Frustrated at the speed, he wiggled the mouse to find that the computer had frozen in place and assumedly had not saved his file. Fuck; West was going to kill him and feed his remains to the dogs. He panicked and began haphazardly hitting combinations of keys until finally the computer screen blinked before turning solid blue.

"No, no, no!" he cried out, banging the mouse on the mouse pad and hitting more keys. "Fuck, don't do this to me now! C'mon!"

Unfortunately, it seemed as though all hope was lost and he'd have to call in a computer repair technician or someone who actually knew more about computers than Prussia—he was pretty awesome at life, but his skill with technology was a little below par.

He really wanted to cry, but he held back the strangled sob like a man and dropped his head against the kitchen table with a moan. Surprised, Gilbird hopped off his head and landed on the tabletop, pecking lightly at his owner's head as Prussia groaned again and swore in German (something about 'fucking technology' and its 'hatred of the awesome me.' Or something about puppies; the world may never know). "My life sucks," he grumbled to himself, lifting his head and frowning at the Blue Screen of Death that taunted him relentlessly.

Glancing over at the phone on the wall, he spotted the computer techie's number written hastily on a Post-It Note from the last time he'd fucked up the computer and pursed his lips. He _could _get up, grab the phone, and hope to hell that the techie geek-boy was available for service right fucking _now_.

Or he could say to hell with it and go enjoy the afternoon out on the town.

He looked at the phone, then turned to look at the open front door.

Phone.

Front door.

Phone.

Front door.

Pho—_fuck it_. Scooping Gilbird up, he deposited the cheeping bird on top of his head and snagged the house keys, strutting out the door with a cocky smile on his face and his hands in his pockets. He'd call the geek later.

. . .

Chicken sandwich in hand and missing a bite, Mello poked the redhead sitting on the couch asleep—somehow _still _playing videogames and _still _winning at them, the freak—and muttered, "Fucking lazy ass," in Russian before devouring the rest of his brunch and heading upstairs to take a shower.

. . .

Pushing open the doors of the small convenience store and walking into the sunlight, Prussia uncapped the bottle of sunscreen he'd bought and applied liberal amounts to his exposed skin. It was bad enough that he was naturally white enough to be considered a walking light bulb, dare he say close to _glow-in-the-dark_, but looking like a human lobster would be undeniably worse.

So, the sun plus California plus albinism equaled Prussia nearly bathing in sunscreen.

_Curse_ his sexy German blood.

Well, the beach wasn't going to get awesome by itself. What better way for its awesomeness to increase ten-fold than by him just showing up? Rubbing the last of the sunscreen that was on his hands all over his face and neck, he set a course for the beach at the end of the road while humming "Girls, Girls, Girls" and looking like a boss with his kickass shades.

Look out, world.

Badass has _arrived_.

. . .

"You are a _fucking human anomaly_, Matt," Mello said with a short laugh, toweling his hair and raising an eyebrow at the forever gamer. Growing tired of watching him play in his sleep, he lifted a hand and smacked his friend in the back of the head. "Wake up, damn it."

With a snort, Matt shot awake and said, "The cake is a lie!" while dropping the controller in shock and glancing around frantically. Noticing the vaguely amused blond behind him, he sighed in relief and ran his hand through shaggy red hair. "_Damn_, Mel. Ya freaked me the _hell_ out."

Mello shrugged a shoulder and replied, "Go to bed like a _normal_ person and you won't constantly be rudely awoken by the back of my hand. Savvy?"

Matt smacked him with a pillow.

. . .

_Objective: Acquire vitamin-D_

_Status: Mission success_

_Notes: God damn, I'm awesome._

Prussia shook the seawater threatening to drip into his eyes out of his silvery hair, de-sanding his feet before slipping back into his flip-flops and clocking in a good day at the beach. Maybe now, what with the cleared head and relaxation time, he could get that damn computer to work again. As he walked up the street and in the direction of the house, colorfully rainbowic flyers caught his attention as they littered street lamps and tree trunks.

_LOST DOG_

_GARAGE SALE, SATURDAY FROM 10 – 4_

_FOUND DOG_

_FREE COMPUTER REPAIR_

_WANT TO ENLARGE THE SIZE OF YOUR—_what was that last one?

Doubling back, Prussia yanked the neon-green flyer boasting free computer repair off the pole and read it over. "Fix any problems, makes house calls, no charge…" he read aloud, raising his eyebrows in mild disbelief as he cocked his head to the side. "Hmm… better just take the flyer since I don't have my phone with me. Hope this geek really does mean it when he says free."

It'd be nice if tech-master flash could get to the house as soon as possible, too; Lord knows West would slaughter him if he came home to find his computer fucked for good and his notes not copied over _because _his computer was fucked for good. Germany was one scary motherfucker when he was pissed off, and Prussia had been on the wrong side of that enough to know that it's best to avoid making him mad.

Getting Romano mad was hella fun, though; especially when he was making pizza. Throw those toppings, Roma—throw 'em like you've never thrown 'em before.

Well, son of a shit.

Now he was hungry.

. . .

There were some things in life that a man always took seriously, including sports, beer, sex, and the thing that Matt—poor, easily distracted, can-never-make-up-his-damn-mind Matt—found himself faced with in the dairy section of the grocery store.

Cheddar or American.

Adjusting the hand basket higher up his arm so it rested neatly in the crook of his elbow, he pushed his thick-rimmed glasses up his nose and huffed. It was really a difficult choice, the cheese, because the wrong one could ruin a perfectly acceptable sandwich and any sandwiches that were to follow; taste matters. A lot.

Should he go with the bold, in-your-face taste of cheddar?

Or American, the milder cousin of cheddar that likes to sit in the corner and color?

Honestly. Why was it so damn hard? He _would _ask one of the store attendants, but that would mean downgrading his legitimacy as a man, for _real _men neither asked for help nor directions—no matter how lost or confused they were.

Cheddar?

Or American?

_I'm a motherfucking genius, _he told himself, shifting where he stood and kneading the knot out of the back of his neck. _This should be fucking easy for me. Why the hell is it so damn frustrating for me to just pick one?_

Really. After all, he was a geni—hold the phone.

So began the dawning of realization. "I'm a genius," he said out loud, nodding as if agreeing with himself, "so there shouldn't be any reason why I can't come up with a logical solution to this problem. Maybe, just maybe, if I think a little harder…"

Wait.

What if he just… Hell, the thought never occurred to him! The solution had been staring him in the face the whole time! It seemed so simple once he really thought about it, and he wondered why he hadn't figured that out in the first place.

Cheddar…

…_and _American.

Dropping both packages of cheese into his basket confidently, he bragged, "I'm fuckin' _amazin'_," and sauntered over to the checkout line.

Ah, the power of the brilliant minds of Wammy's finest at work.

. . .

5-6-2.

Glance.

4-6-7.

One last look.

8-9-0-1.

Swelling with the feeling of accomplishment because he's just that awesome, Prussia hit the 'talk' button on West's phone and held the receiver to his ear. The soothing sounds of the ringing were interrupted after just a few moments and a voice—distinctly American, and from the accent probably someone raised on the East Coast—said, "Hi, how the fuck are ya, my name's Matt. Ya callin' 'bout the computer repair?"

Wow. All Americans _were _the type to get all up in your business. Made America the perfect representative of the entire population, the brazen Dummkopf. "Er, yes. My brother's computer froze while I was using it and after something happened, which totally wasn't my fault, by the way, the Blue Screen of Death took over." He hoped his tone conveyed the Capitalized Importance the words had.

"Huh. Sounds like _someone_—" Oh, sarcasm. Below the belt, Herr Jackass. "—started hittin' random keys hopin' it'd do somethin'. Am I correct in assumin' so?"

In a small voice, Prussia replied, "…maybe."

"Is the need urgent, or can ya wait 'til tomorrow?"

Prussia laughed nervously. "Unless you want to come over tomorrow to find me in the form of doggy food bits, today would be nice. If that's okay with you."

Awkward silence, then, "I fix computers that idiots fuck up. I have nothin' _but _free time on my hands. Just give me the address and I'll be there as fast as I can."

"Thanks."

"Oh, don't thank me yet; your computer's still fucked to high heaven. Imbecile."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Moar head-canon, guise!

—Matt's blind as fuck without his glasses (or goggles, depending on whether or not the story's AU; my AU Matt wears glasses, just so you know)  
>—He's a complete failure at relationships and considers it a miracle that he and Mello have been friends for so long<br>—He graduated college at sixteen, so he's been in the working world since then; he still can't hold onto a job for the life of him, though  
>—Despite being a genius, he's still a bit scatterbrained and can easily be sidetracked by something else<br>—Sarcasm and insults are his ways of masking his insecurities and flaws  
>—He loves baseball, but was never active or good enough to play it himself<br>—He's a natural skeptic and takes a lot of convincing to change his opinions and beliefs  
>—Prussia becomes attached to things quickly because he never really had friends; so without his knowledge, Germany always replaces Gilbird before he dies<br>—Hungary is Prussia's closest friend, but he hangs out with France and Spain more often  
>—Beating on him is Hungary's way of showing she cares about him<br>—Prussia only has the numbers of the five people he contacts most in his phone: Canada, France, Spain, Hungary, and Germany

ON WITH THE SHOW, MY LOVELIES.

* * *

><p>He'd been expecting a dweeb in a van, or maybe even some weird guy in a bigass pickup truck—he wasn't, however, expecting some hot kid in a sexy as hell, candy-apple red, 1969 SS Chevy Camaro, and damn if the guy didn't make the car look even better than it would standing alone. Checkered button-up shirt opened over a Pink Floyd shirt, he adjusted his glasses and strode up to the doorway where Prussia was standing and gaping like a fucking fish. "I'm Matt," he said, stopping in front of the dumbfounded nation with his hands shoved in his pockets. "We spoke on the phone. You're the dumbass that cocked up his bro's computer, right?"<p>

Snap out of it, Prussia. Shaking his head to bring himself back into reality, he nodded and replied, almost nervously, "Um, yeah, that's me. The awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt, at your service. Has anyone ever told you how fucking red your hair is?"

"Really? I'd've never known that if ya hadn't told me," Matt replied flatly, glancing up and over the top of his glasses with an eyebrow raised sarcastically. "Show me to the computer and I'll see if I can fix it; well, I can fix it, regardless of how much ya fucked it up. Been doin' this for years, ya know, not to mention I'm a genius." Prussia stepped aside to let him through the door, locking the screen door to allow air to flow throughout the house. "I smell bread. Ya bakin' any?"

Blinking, Prussia shook his head before lifting his arm and sniffing his wrist. "No, it's me. Actually," _I smell like bread because Prussia was known as the 'breadbasket of Western Europe,' and since I'm Prussia, it only stands to reason that I, too, smell like bread, _"I can't explain why I smell like that. You going to fix the computer, or what?"

Matt mumbled something that sounded like, "Yeah, yeah, keep your man-thong on," and sat at the table in front of the computer, snorting at it. "Wow. Ya _really _got a problem, don'tcha? Just give me a minute…" Cracking his knuckles, he started typing keyboard combinations until the computer rebooted itself and turned back on. "Ta-da. All fixed."

"Thanks, kid," Prussia replied, scratching his cheek and pursing his lips. "Hey, I was wondering if you'd like to—"

Suddenly, the answering machine on the phone in the kitchen belted out a loud, overtly American voice. "Hey, Prussia! It's me, America! You know, the one that kicked your Axis ass in World War II but saved you from that commie bastard's wrath afterwards 'cause I'm a hero and all! So, I wanted to know if you'd be cool with dropping by Canadia's place later on today to make sure he's still doing okay and he hasn't, like, died on me or anything. France was supposed to do it for England, but he's too busy being, well, _French_, so he can't check up on him. I know how much you like pancakes and maple syrup, so I figured that you'd be the best one to go see if he's still alive and all. So, uh, thanks in advance, and you can call my cell with the deets! Bye!"

In the span of the two minutes of uncomfortable silence that followed, at least a dozen gay babies had been born before Matt opened his mouth and said, "What the hell was—"

"I-It's not what you think!" denied Prussia, flailing his arms comically while Matt just stared at him strangely. "Whatever it is you're thinking, that's not it, so just… just stop thinking it! Because I think that you think that I know that you think it's what you think it is, but it's _not_ what you think it is, it's something completely _different_, so don't think that thinking about it will make it what you think it is because it's _not_."

There were a couple of crucial rules that the nations had to follow—always show up to the meetings, claiming vital regions in a time of peace was strictly off limits, Prussia was not to be within twenty yards of Austria without Hungary present, and the citizens were never to learn of their existence. _Ever_. Only those involved in government were allowed the privilege of knowing their true identities, and they were sworn to secrecy about the whole thing.

Matt's gloriously green eyes were wide as he cleared his throat and blinked a few times. "Is this, um, some kinda… weird sexual roleplay, or somethin'?" he asked hesitantly, cheeks reddening as he shifted from one foot to the other. "I mean, there's no other logical explanation, right?"

At that moment, Prussia's pessimism was making itself known.

_Scenario one: I let him think it's just some freaky roleplay thing. He'll probably think I'm crazy._

_Scenario two: I tell him the truth about what I am and prove it to him. He'll probably think I'm crazy._

_Scenario three: I convince him that it's just a joke and my friends are fucked up douchebags. He'll probably think I'm crazy._

_Damn it._

"You have, like, really pretty eyes," Prussia said, effectively changing the subject. "Why do you cover them with glasses?"

"My eyesight's shit," Matt replied, shrugging. "It's that or contacts and I freakin' hate contacts. Actually, without my glasses I'm legally blind, so I really have no choice _but _to wear 'em, whether or not I like 'em. What were we talkin' 'bout?"

Prussia bit his bottom lip. "I dunno," he lied. "So, uh, thanks for your help. I'll be sure to save your number in case the computer craps out again."

After a moment of awkward silence, Matt gave half a grin and stood, heading toward the front door nervously. But before he left, he turned back around and said, "You're a pretty cool guy. Wanna hang out sometime? I'm free most of the time, and if I'm not I'm prob'ly doin' somethin' for my roomie."

"Oh, yeah, that sounds cool."

"Cool. Just, uh, call. Whenever. Later."

Waving tensely, Prussia half-chuckled and said, "Later," as Matt walked out the door.

. . .

Once he was back in his car, Matt swore up a storm and banged his forehead on the steering wheel, berating himself for being socially retarded. While he was pleasantly surprised that he managed to talk to Gilbert without making too much of an idiot of himself, he was still pissed that it was so awkward.

He sighed.

Maybe venting to Mello would do him some good.

. . .

"That was… odd," Prussia said to himself, fishing his cell phone out of his pocket and dialing one of the five numbers in his contacts. Patiently, he waited for the other person to answer the phone while stroking Gilbird's head with one finger.

"Hello?" came a female voice, laced with breathlessness. "What do you want, Prussia?"

He clicked his tongue. "Well, I wanted some advice, but first I'd like to know what the hell you're doing. And why are you so out of breath?"

"I'm trying to get Austria in shape. He's kinda… marshmallow-y. Can you excuse me for a second?" Hungary placed her hand over the speaker of the phone, but Prussia could still hear when she yelled, _"You call those push-ups? Liechtenstein can do better than that! …no, you can't do them on your knees! Man up, Austria!" _"So, you wanted to ask for some advice?"

"Oh, yeah." Biting the inside of his cheeks, Prussia thought for a moment before saying, "There's this guy I maybe-sorta-kinda wanna ask out, right? But we don't really know each other that well, so what should I do?"

Hungary yelled something else at Austria then replied, "Are you finally making an attempt to get to know Canada better? It's about damn time, you clumpnugget!"

"Uh, no. It's actually not anybody you know, which is part of the problem…"

"Prussia…" Hungary sighed, muttering something in her native tongue to herself as Prussia waited with bated breath and gnawed on his bottom lip. "Not again. You _do _remember what happened _last _time, right? With Old Fritz and that whole spiel? Do you _really _wanna go through that again?"

"Hey!" Prussia snapped. "Just because I'm fucking _awesome _doesn't mean I'm not susceptible to having flaws! I'm just as human as you are, Hun, and I know that you make a lot of mistakes, too. So don't go judging me."

Over in Austria—please excuse the narrator as her brain takes a one-way trip to the gutter—Hungary closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, taking a calming breath. "For starters, I wasn't aware that 'susceptible' was even in your mediocre, undeveloped vocabulary, so props for that. Next, I never even insinuated that you have to be perfect. Lastly, I know that we're still human somewhere, and I wasn't judging you. You're my best friend and I care about you, even if it doesn't seem like it, and I just want what's best for you. And I don't think that chasing after some… human is the best idea, right now or ever. It only leads to heartbreak; you and I both know that."

Prussia snorted. "You make it sound like I'll get too attached or something."

"You will!" Hungary insisted, tone desperate. "You always get so attached to things and then you're a sniveling mess when you have to be separated! You still cry over Fritz, you were depressed as fuck when Austria and I joined together and left you alone, you had nightmares when you were under Russia's control and separated from Germany, and… and hell, even with Gilbird! That's the reason Germany—"

"That's the reason Germany _what_?" he prompted, but all Hungary did was suck in a breath. "Still waiting for you to finish."

"Keep waiting, because I _won't _be finishing it. Ever. So, back to the problem at hand… I seriously think you should reconsider this. I don't want you getting hurt when you have the option of avoiding the situation in the first place. For once in your life, I _want _you to be selfish."

Irritated, Prussia gritted his teeth and ground out, "Christ, Hungary. If I wanted philosophical bullshit, I would've called Greece. And for the record, I'm a grown man that can make decisions for himself because I'm _awesome_. Fuck you!" before violently closing his phone and dropping it on the table.

He pouted for about twenty-seven seconds before picking his phone back up and hitting redial. "I'm sorry," he blurted just as Hungary started talking.

"Me too."

"We cool?"

"Like ice."

"Love you, you horny, perverted bitch."

"Ditto, you retarded, pigment-less asshole."

. . .

Wandering through the door to their apartment, Matt kicked off his shoes, tossed his keys somewhere, and flopped down on the couch with his head in Mello's lap. "Hey, Mels?" he asked, wiggling his socked toes.

Mello changed the channel on the television and replied, "Yeah?"

"Do ya think I'm… weird?"

"Extremely," he responded, as if it were just another question. "I question every fucking strange thing you do because you're that fucking weird. Why?"

Matt shrugged, playing with a loose thread on his shirt. "No reason," he answered, still fiddling with the thread. "Just wanted to know."

"Hm."

All was silent—except for the television, of course, which was now playing something that looked like _Deal or No Deal_—until Matt twiddled his thumbs and said, "Do ya think I'm cute?"

"Like a puppy," Mello replied simply, flipping through the on-screen channel guide.

"Oh."

More silence.

"What's for dinner?"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>So, anyway, tomorrow's the premiere of the new season of _Glee_, which I have only three words for:

KLAINE IS ENDGAME. *flails*

BOO-FUCKING-YAH.

That is all.


End file.
